


I've Got My Own

by Arianne



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Singing, Washracks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3929839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianne/pseuds/Arianne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Didn’t I tell you,” Cyclonus said, and he came from nowhere, startling the cleaning brush straight out of Tailgate’s hand, “that you should sing proudly?”</p>
<p>Set after MTMTE 13.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Got My Own

**Author's Note:**

> Second of two Tailgate/Cyclonus ficlets I wrote for a little birthday fic exchange ceryskitty, robohaven and I did in 2013!

“Didn’t I tell you,” Cyclonus said, and he came from nowhere, startling the cleaning brush straight out of Tailgate’s hand, “that you should sing proudly?”

The brush clattered to the floor, making a racket that echoed down the whole washracks. Tailgate flinched, and was extra glad he always tried to wash alone – it meant he was the only one in this sector’s washracks. Nobody would come looking for the noise, or even notice it.

Except for Cyclonus. Who was looming, catching just the edge of the solvent spray. Tailgate glanced over, wondering if he should turn it off.

“I – No, Cyclonus –” he started, without knowing how he was going to finish.

“Do you need me to show you again?” He actually didn’t sound too impatient.

“No!” Tailgate rushed. He was proud of how quickly he’d memorized Cyclonus’s song, after only one lesson, and just listening to Cyclonus. “No, I remember.”

“Then sing for me,” Cyclonus said simply.

_I’ve got my own…_ started the song, and Tailgate sung it in his best voice… which was still timid and soft, compared to Cyclonus, but he didn’t get a lot of chances to practice like this, and he just couldn’t ever project without the chest space for his vocalizer to resonate. But he tried, and Cyclonus nodded approvingly, and it was encouraging enough for him to keep going, even when every note echoed.

Near the first bridge section, Cyclonus stepped forward, his foot knocking the discarded brush out of the way. Despite his newfound resolve and pride, Tailgate faltered in his song.

“Go on,” Cyclonus said, but he’d noticed – and he didn’t get any closer until, after he’d picked up where he left off and made it all the way to the second verse, Tailgate got bold and reached out with both hands for his friend.

_Then_ Cyclonus stepped in. Directly underneath the solvent, it dripped slick from his face and his frame, and in the moment that registered Tailgate practically felt his neural net return a total blank.

Cyclonus picked up the melody for him, on the line where Tailgate had stopped, and wow, that didn’t help the neural net at all. But somehow he was able to join in again, his voice forming the higher-register complement to Cyclonus, who shifted effortlessly into a harmony. Cyclonus had mentioned multiple parts, but Tailgate had never heard them together before. They were beautiful.

But Tailgate couldn’t let himself regret too much when only a few lines later Cyclonus dropped out of the song to lift him up, pinning him between the wall and Cyclonus’s own body, feet well off the floor. Tailgate happily wrapped his arms around Cyclonus’s neck, balancing on that and Cyclonus’ leg pressing right between his legs. From far away, he could hear himself still singing.

The vocals in the chorus soared, and when he sung it, Cyclonus leaned close. He pressed kisses to his jaw and helm, and finally, when Tailgate’s rhythm was interrupted by a hard shudder from the attention, Cyclonus murmured in his audial.

“Sing out, Tailgate,” he said, punctuated with a gentle bite, soothed with Cyclonus’s glossa.

Tailgate screamed.


End file.
